


Keeping One's Cool

by hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove



Series: Better Camelate Than Never [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon Era, Crack Treated Seriously, Day 6: Always By Your Side, Ealdor, Gen, Ice Cream, Kid Fic, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove/pseuds/hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove
Summary: Merlin and Will are milking a cow.Nothing could go wrong... right?Maybe factor in the minor detail of Merlin being a tiny, unrestrained omnipotent powerhouse, and think again.
Relationships: Merlin & Will (Merlin)
Series: Better Camelate Than Never [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209551
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Camelove 2021





	Keeping One's Cool

In 400BCE, Persia, people used to indulge in a chilled cream dessert made with vermicelli and rose water, called _paloodeh_. A similar treat was invented around 100 years prior during the Persian Achaemenid Empire, where fruit juices, saffron and syrups would be poured over snow and eaten during the summertime. It was reportedly favoured by one Alexander the Great, who didn’t seem to like much else of Persia seeing as he began a series of military campaigns lasting ten years against it.

As history would tell it, these are the first known enjoyments of what we would now call ice cream. 

As the two young boys of our story would tell it, it was over a thousand years later in the dingy little village of Ealdor, right on the outskirts of King Cenred’s domain, on a sweltering summer day.

* * *

The thing that Will probably likes the most about Merlin, is that it’s far, far too easy to tick him off. For all his adorable (“I’m _not_ _adorable,”_ Merlin squeaks adorably, adorable huge ears glowing an adorable shade of pink) eleven-year-old appearance, there is so much _rage_ bottled up inside that skinny frame that Will kinda wonders if his best mate/brother/Mentee In The Art Of Being Cool is actually possessed by a vengeful faerie or goblin or the like.

Shame they’re not real, he thinks as he watches Merlin furiously attempt to wrangle Old Mel into staying put so he could grab a hold of her teats. It would’ve been _proper_ wicked to have a magical companion to pull pranks on Old Man Simmons with (ignoring the part where Merlin is dragged off in shackles once the crusty old coot inevitably tattles on them to the King). 

Of course, just like all the claptrap told through bedtime stories, wishes don’t actually come true. He lies back on his elbows with a sigh as his disappointingly-not-magic friend flops onto his milking stool, teats finally in hand, and begins squeezing. 

“You could _help_ , you know,” Merlin grumbles, glowering at Old Mel’s udders as though he actually did have the magical ability to boil the milk in them with his glare. Will suddenly decides that it’s probably a good thing that he can’t, if only because it would be pretty uncomfortable for the old cow to have simmering innards. 

“I could, yeah,” he says. He settles back on the grass, hands behind his head. He almost _feels_ the heat of Merlin’s gaze burn where it’s now directed at him (again; _very good thing_ that Merlin doesn’t have magic). 

“Ugh,” Merlin growls. There’s a snort of protest from Old Mel, from what Will imagines is the other boy pulling a mite too hard on a teat. “You’re so _lazy_ , Will. Why do I always have to do everything around here?” 

“Oi,” Will protests, opening a single eyelid and sitting up slightly. “I resent that.” He settles back on the yellow grass. “I folded my underwear just two weeks ago.” 

“First of all, that was _three_ weeks ago, you twit-” 

“Again, resented.” 

“-and second of all, you _didn’t_ fold it, because _I_ did after you just _left_ it on the dining table so that Mum wouldn’t bite your arse for it later!” 

“She’ll bite _your_ arse for that dirty mouth, young man.” 

He hears the pattering of weak-attempt-at-stomping footsteps approaching - “attempt” because Merlin is literally as light as a bird feather and his steps barely rustle the grass - and then immediately regrets his nonchalance when he finds himself curling up with a wheeze as a foot impacts with his side. 

Key word: _bird-feather._

To elaborate: Merlin knows full well that he’s too puny to cause any real pain to his much larger, much tougher Best Mate, but because he’s still a vindictive little hellion, he plays on his strengths and uses his bare foot to relentlessly tickle Will until he’s gasping for air. 

“Sto- _stop,_ oh my- _Merli_ \- _stop, Merlin, I yield, I yie_ -” His surrenders go unheeded, because apparently Merlin has no damn honour along with his sorry lack of Chill, and Will collapses into a fit of shuddering giggles, jerking around and batting at Merlin’s ankle which stays firmly - mercilessly - in place. 

So he switches tactics and drags Merlin down to suffer with him. 

They’re rolling around on the field, tickling each other wherever they can reach and shrieking with laughter, when-

“Oi! Pipe the fuck down, you mangy brats!” 

Startled by the yell, both boys abruptly jolt out of their wrestling. Will lifts his head, but does so just as a twig comes spiralling through the air towards him, leaving him zero time to duck before it hits him squarely in the face. 

Stunned, Will doesn’t register Merlin leaping to his feet beside him, until the scrappy little waif begins hurling verbal abuse right back whoever-the-frig had thrown the stick in the first place. Even in his dazed state, Will can kinda guess who it was. 

“You cranky old fucker-” 

Oh, Hunith is _definitely_ gonna be pulling out the soap for that one. 

“-you’ve only gone and hurt Will! Look at him, he’s _bleeding!_ ” 

He is? Will lifts a hand to his head. His fingers come away red. Huh. He is. 

“...you wanna throw sticks? I’ll throw fucking sticks! I’ll throw a whole motherfucking _tree!_ ” 

Holy frigging _hell_ \- where had the kid picked up such dirty language? 

...And why hasn’t he shared it with Will?

Will blinks furiously to drag himself out of his delirium, suddenly concerned that the tiny ball of rage that he'd appointed himself In Charge Of would end up getting himself killed by a narky Old Man Simmons (he does file away the comment about the tree for later reference, though). 

Merlin has just moved onto a graphic ( _really_ bleeding graphic, seriously who _taught_ him all this?) description of exactly where else he’s going to shove his sticks, when Will grabs his hand and pulls. 

“Hey," he hisses, "mate, d’you think you could, uh...” He trails off when Merlin’s glare is redirected towards him. 

“What?” Merlin spits. 

“Maybe just - I dunno - chill out a bit?” 

“Chill out a bit? _Chill out a bit?_ ” And, okay, maybe Will shouldn’t have drawn attention to himself while Merlin was so riled up. “How can I _chill out a bit_ when he _injured_ you?!” 

“Exactly,” Will points out. “He injured _me_ , so - y’know - my battle to fight? Also maybe don’t yell at _me_ about it-” 

“Oh, well, _fine_ , I’ll _chill out a bit_ , I’ll show you _just_ how chilled out I can be-” 

There’s a weird crackling sound coming from behind his screeching friend, but Will is dealing with headaches from both a kooky old man and a kooky young Merlin, so his attention is divided enough as it is without him trying to also focus on whatever the frig is going on over by Old Mel. 

“-I’ll just be _all_ easy breezy, _super duper_ cool-”

...Except that the crackling is getting louder to the point where it’s kinda hard to block out, so Will tries squinting in the direction it’s coming from and-- 

“Eeeer…”

“-and then _next_ time you get walloped over the head and _die_ from it I’ll just lie back and do nothing because - hey - that’s exactly what _you_ do, isn’t it?” 

“Merls?” 

“And I bet if it were me, you wouldn’t even bat an _eye_ \- 

“Merlin, frig’s sake, give it a rest, would you?” Merlin opens his mouth to go off again, but Will tilts his head - and, side note, _ow_ , probably shouldn’t do that again - urgently towards the area behind him. 

Because there, where before had been totally regular drought-ridden field, was now an honest-to-God patch of snow and ice, surrounding Old Mel and freezing her hooves to the ground. 

The poor old girl was shivering violently, chattering mouth giving way to stuttered, morose moos. 

“...Oh, fuck.” 

“...Yeah, I’m not even gonna rat you out to Hunith for that one.” 

Both boys stare at the cow in silence, but then Will looks over at Merlin to begin asking what the frig they’re gonna do, only to find his friend shivering as though he were the one trapped in ice. 

“...Merlin?” 

Merlin whips around sharply at the sound of his voice. His eyes are blown wide, his face deathly pale. He looks scared, and - yeah, Will’s seen him petrified when he knows he’s done something to make Hunith mad, but anyone with their wits about them has a healthy fear of Hunith. 

This isn’t a healthy fear. This looks like a boy who's been shown his worst nightmare come to life, and Will, concussed and generally crap at the whole comforting schtick, doesn’t have a clue what to do. 

But here’s the thing; Will is _concussed_. The ground is frozen and Merlin looks like he’s either going to bolt or start blubbing, when two minutes earlier he’d been threatening to shove a whole tree up an old man’s rear. Clearly, the world is outta whack right now, and Will is pretty convinced that he knows what’s going on. 

He’s hallucinating. 

As he'd reasoned earlier, magic isn’t real. There is, however, no other logical explanation as to why the ground is frozen at the height of Summer, so the only logical answer to a non-logical situation is that Will is currently in a state of logiclessness, meaning he's officially reached Hallucination Station. 

Now for the question of how the ice got there. 

Will looks at Merlin again - who has now actually _started_ crying and holy _frig_ , Will isn’t cut out for this - thinks back through their conversation and comes to a very sound conclusion. Turns out concussed-him is a bit of a clever-clogs. Who knew? 

“Hey, Merls, did you spell Old Mel all icy like that?” 

Merlin bursts into full-blown sobs. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone, they’ll take me away, Will _please_ …” 

Ah… frig. 

Will, feeling very uncomfortable but also very concerned, pushes himself shakily to his feet, reaches out and… pats Merlin on the head. Twice. 

Merlin stares at him with his big, blue eyes, lips all wobbly and cheeks bright red, and Will knows right then that it's up to him to step up and Take Charge. 

“Listen, Merls,” he starts seriously. “It’s alright, yeah? Your secret is safe with me. I’m no snitch, after all.” Who would he even snitch to when none of this was even real? 

Merlin doesn’t seem to understand what he’s saying, but that’s okay. Will’s always been the brains of their duo, and if his concussed noggin has to be the one to navigate them through this mad Hallucination, then so be it. 

He throws a brotherly arm over Merlin’s skinny shoulders and guides him over to Old Mel. The cow seems to glare at them reproachfully, but maybe that’s the concussion talking. 

In any case, Will knows that they have to get her out. 

...Which just leaves the question of how to do it. 

“Hey- Merlin? D’you think you could…” He waves his hand in twirly motion that he thinks is a pretty decent imitation of spellcasting, if he does say so himself (not that he's seen much magicking around their poky little village... or any at all). Merlin obviously doesn’t agree with him, because the flat look he sends Will’s way suggests that he thinks his older and much cleverer friend is, in fact, a bit daft. 

The expression is unfairly effective, despite the redness to his eyes and the wetness to his adorably chubby cheeks. 

It’s just plain rude, honestly. 

Will tightens his arm around Merlin’s neck, pulls him down and scrubs a fist against the top of his head to teach him a lesson about respecting his elders and betters. He releases the kid when he thinks his message has gotten through (i.e when Merlin yells that he yields, because where Merlin sorely lacks it, Will’s dad had been a Knight and so honour is basically in his blood), pokes his thumb at Old Mel and asks: 

“D’you know how to melt it?” 

Merlin blinks. 

“Uhhhh maybe?” 

Will nods. 

“Good enough for me.” 

He crosses his arms and waits.

...Nothing happens.

Bemused, he glances over at Merlin to find him standing there like a complete lemon, arms hanging uselessly at his side. Will gives him a shove. 

“Well?” he demands. “Go on, then.” 

“What?” 

“Melt it.” 

“...Now?” 

“Wha- _yes_ , now, when d’you frigging think?” 

“O...kay...”

He watches, a tad curious, as Merlin screws up his face, throws out his hands and-- 

“...Nothing’s happening.” 

“Yes, I can _see_ that Will--” 

“Alright, alright, chill ou--” Will’s eyes widen. “Make yourself hot.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“You-- before, you kept saying you were gonna chill out, so--” 

Merlin’s eyes expand to mirror his, and he starts… running... on the spot... 

“...What are you doing?” 

“Making myself hot.” 

He goes on to blowing on his hands and rubbing them together like they do in Winter, and then he throws his arms out again and-- 

“ _Aaagh!_ ”

“ _Oh fuck-_ -” 

Both boys cough and splutter, blinking ash from their eyes as the ring of blazing flames from Merlin’s hands that had circled the cow fades.

They squint through the smoky haze and see that, miraculously, the snow had melted and - while clearly spooked and covered in soot, but otherwise unharmed - Old Mel has been freed and wastes no time at all hobbling away with all the speed her old legs can manage. 

The milking stool had been reduced to a blackened lump, having been in the path of the circle of fire that had been used to free the cow. The bucket, which had been directly underneath Old Mel, is perfectly intact.

Will approaches the bucket and peers into it. 

“Huh,” he mutters. “Still full.” Then he narrows his eyes suspiciously, and, rearing back a leg, kicks it over. 

“ _Will-_ -” 

“Hey, Merls! Look!” 

Merlin warily ambles over to stand beside Will. 

“...Huh.” 

The bucket, lying on its side, is still full to the near-brim with milk. 

“It’s still frozen.” 

“Can you melt it?”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably. 

“I don’t know how well I can control it,” he mumbles. “I might end up setting you on fire. Or boiling the milk. And then it’ll all spill over anyway.” 

“Hm.” Will pauses. “You do realise Hunith is gonna kill us if we turn up milkless, right?” 

Merlin looks grim. 

“Well, then,” he says decisively. “I guess we’ll just have to melt it the old fashioned way.” 

* * *

The old-fashioned way, as it turns out, happens to be grabbing the stick that had conked Will over the head and using it to scrape away at the iced milk for what must be hours in the unforgiving midday Sun until it’s been reduced to a slurry. 

Will pushes a hand through his sweaty hair. 

“This’ll do, right?” 

Merlin, looking equally frazzled, nods. 

“Right.” 

“She can just boil it from here.” 

“Uhuh.” 

Will groans. 

“I can’t smash anymore, anyway. I can’t feel my arms.” 

Merlin grunts in agreement. He’s still going at the bucket with a stick, but Will had dramatically flung his to the side when he’d decided he’d had enough. 

As he eyes the milk mush, being sloshed around in the bucket, an odd thought pops into his head. 

“Hey, Merls? Quit for a minute, yeah?” 

“Huh- Will, what-” 

Will sticks his finger in the slush, scoops up a smidge and sticks it in his mouth. His eyes goggle. He pulls his finger from his mouth with a resounding _pop_ and stares at Merlin in awe. 

“Oh, my _giddy_ aunt,” he breathes. He dips his finger in again and licks it clean. “Oh my _giddy frigging aunt_.” 

“What?” Merlin demands. “What is it?” 

Will gazes at him with an expression of pure, shocked elation. 

“It’s _amazing._ ” 

Merlin, ever the sceptic, raises a brow, but eventually his curiosity wins out and he sticks his own finger in the slush to try. His eyes bulge out of his head. 

“Bloody _hell_.” 

“No,” Will corrects, shaking his head. “Bloody _Heaven._ ” 

The boys instantly dive in again, moaning around the morsel. It’s rich, creamy and bitingly cold, and Will, desperate to keep the taste lasting longer, dips in his whole hand and shovels the moreish iced treat into his mouth. 

He regrets it a second later when an icy throb rips through his already concussed skull. 

“Ohhh, bollocks… bad idea…” 

Merlin pauses where he’s been about to copy Will and stares at him with his brows furrowed in concern. 

“What’s up?” 

“Don’t…” Will curls up into a ball, rocking back and forth pitifully. “ _Don’t_ have too much at once.” 

Merlin lowers his hand and lets the mountainous scoop of the slush plop back into the bucket. He perks up all of a sudden, darting to his feet. 

“I’ll be right back,” he gushes, and then he’s gone, but Will is too busy wallowing in his double head-pain to care. 

When Merlin returns, Will’s head-freeze has somewhat abated, enough that he can send Merlin an appropriately incredulous look when the other boy drops a handful of berries into the ice, grabs a stick and begins mushing them through. 

“...What are you doing?” 

Merlin doesn’t pause in his smushes as he answers: “I’m _flavouring_ it.” He puts the stick to the side, seemingly satisfied, and gestures welcomingly towards the bucket. “Try it, but _don’t_ -” He waggles his finger in reprimand “-eat too fast.” 

Will, eager to try his friend’s creation, nods quickly and eats too fast. 

He curls up again, moaning and clutching his head. Merlin, the cold bastard, only shakes his own head in disapproval. 

“I told you not to, didn’t I?” 

“Ughhhh, leave off…”

Merlin only tuts. 

They do, eventually, realise that they don’t have any milk left for Hunith, and spend the rest of the afternoon chasing after and needling Old Mel into allowing them to milk her again so that they don’t turn up empty handed and get shanked by Merlin’s irate mother. 

The next time they go to milk, they bring an extra bucket. 

The next time after _that_ , they bring an extra two. 

It becomes their new favourite game; milking Old Mel and freezing half of the milk to make flavoured dairy slush. It takes a while for Merlin to hone his freezing attempts, and many a time, they find themselves rubbing at frozen limbs or with chattering teeth and end up having to huddle for warmth behind Huntih’s pigpen before they can turn up at home with an appropriate amount of blue - i.e. none - tinging their skin for a midsummer day. 

But they manage it. They perfect it, in fact, in Will's humble opinion, even though their attempts at flavouring often go awry (beef and ice milk was something that should’ve made sense, seeing at they came from the same source, but if he never had that taste on his tongue again, it’d be all too soon). Merlin even works out a way to keep the buckets cold, and they store them in the old barn at the edge of the village, behind the bales of hay, along with their trusty wheelbarrow. 

This wheelbarrow is the one that they use, when the buckets are full to the brim of coloured swirls of ice, to wheel around the village, offering scoops of the cold treat to their neighbours for a tuppence. For half the price, the villagers can opt for a whirl of unflavoured ice, with a twig stuck into the top, as a homage to the original iced milk that they'd shared on that very first occasion (centuries later, Merlin will encounter a Mr Whippy van and attempt to sue for copyright infringement when he catches sight of the display of the 99p Flake. He is not taken very seriously by the court.). For their own security, of course, they disguise themselves as travelling merchants from The White Mountains, with trailing beards made of horsehair and hats made of straw. 

(No one mentions the fact that the two tiny old men have wrinkle-free skin, reedy voices and look suspiciously like the two errant brats who always go missing when the ice merchants come to town. But just like another strange bearded fellow that had stayed with Hunith twelve years previous before vanishing into thin air, the villagers silently decide on keeping their plausible deniability, and simply don’t ask.) 

(Besides, the ice milk buys their silence pretty effectively.) 

Of course, at the start of all this, Will had been concussed. He doesn’t, obviously, remain concussed. 

  
Perhaps it was when he felt the heat of Merlin’s fire breathe against his skin, or when he’d first been gripped by the throbbing pain of brain-freeze, but Will is not actually daft enough to have kept believing that it had all been a hallucination. 

This meant, he had realised, that Merlin actually had magic. 

Which - first of all, _proper wicked_. 

But he remembers the tremble of his friend’s lips, the tears that’d streaked down his cheeks, the animalistic fear in his eyes when he’d thought Will would turn him in for his abilities. 

Will had realised, then, that he couldn’t let his friend ever feel like that again.

He’d decided, as he’d sat across from a sticky-with-ice milk Merlin, innocent and glowing with hope, that he’d rather throw himself under the wagon, if it meant that Merlin would remain free.

He'd protect him, Will thought, until his dying breath.

For now, though, the two boys could sit together in the Sun, chuffed at themselves for having come up with such a delicious invention, and less chuffed at themselves for having given themselves brain-freeze for the nth time that day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos and comment what you think!


End file.
